In Other Words. . .

A sanctuary for thinking people.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Born in the Wrong Era (and Time Travel)

It is currently fashionable, at least among my fellow youngsters, to decide that one's self was born in the wrong era, and consequently which would have been the correct era to be born in.

Foremost, this seems to be evidence of just how powerful we see ourselves. Instead of accepting our birth as it happened, we like to decide that it was an accident. Furthermore, do we have no hope in our collective future? Time travel is a widespread curiosity. Many people fantasize about going back in time to see what it was like, or even to live there. I doubt many of us would get along very well without modern conveniences, in the first place.

Maybe this is an extension of a want for personal identity. Everyone wants to feel special. If they identify with a certain period in history, then they can take on the reputation of those years for themselves.

If this is what we pine for, then who will work toward a better future? Our nation has focused on progress for hundreds of years. That is how we have arrived at our present position in the world and created all those wonderful eras that seem so novel compared to the Information Age. Should not our focus be creation and not spectating?

"When you glorify your past / your future dries up"

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Hello Again

Hello again. I apologize to you, faithful reader, if you do indeed exist. I've been wondering what blogging would be like while having a following. Maybe it would feel more like a job, more like a real thing. Solid. Tangible. With real, virtual people interacting all the time. It doesn't seem to be that way now, but I don't mind. Your reward for stumbling upon this here website is something I just wrote yesterday. I hope it does serve as a reward.
It would seem that after many thousands of years of progress (or at least gleaming inventions) that we, the human race of homo sapien lore and antiquity, would have stored away enough sense to do away with that preposterous emotion known most popularly as love. Yes, love. Sappy, sentimental, cinematic, and perpetually original in its own right. You most likely know of it already. If you don't, I'm not willing to become your tutor in the matter, not because I know too little of it, but because I'm tired of wrapping it up tight with shimmering and effeminate lace that looks fitting only because societal discernment has painted it as such. Don't believe me? Is my writing of this piece gaining me any shred of masculinity? No. Please admit that. Lust is masculine, as is detachment. That's what they say, anyway. Nonetheless, persons of all kinds love. Or perhaps only the young ones do truly, though even they are learning well the art of cutting ties. I apologize for my earliest statement. We, the human race, of creative stupidity, are in fact well on our way to eliminating love, that most inconvenient emotion. This news will ring well to the self-proclaimed romantics, that is, if it can be rightfully called news. Call it a bulletin instead, almost a warning, but I wouldn't want to be the wet blanket of this wondrous party, so kindly stop at bulletin. However, the way of parties includes an eventual finale, which is a not-at-all-grand hurrah preceding morning, and, naturally, the hangover. This message has turned rather ugly, and for the record was not at all intended to sound negative. In my defense, it flowed here on its own current, so to speak. I end, as always, with the last word, which happens to be this: the few, the soulful, and not the masses, as has been found, continue to love for the simple reason that love is the most beautiful of possible mistakes, and that is enough.